Tosh Berman's Blog, page 241

January 28, 2014

January 28, 2014

For the past year five years I have been working on a memoir, and now re-reading it, who cares? I can't imagine a reader caring, and I don't even care. The fact that I just completed 54,000 words on the day I was born is... well egotistical. To sit at my desk in front of a computer or two, for six hours a day, to just focus on only me, and how "me' is so important to..."me," is really too much. Not to sound egotistical I tried to write about people around me, that actually made "me" a better or interesting person. But after studying the facts, and looking at various photo albums, I came to the conclusion that "me" is not really that interesting.

The opening sentence to the memoir "The world changed when Tosh was born on August 25, 1954, " strikes me a bit strong. But it took me around five years, and I know this because I kept a detailed journal basically focusing on my feelings. Eventually I got to the next sentence. Once I got there, I found myself that I couldn't stop writing. Page after page came by, in a manner of an Orson Welles montage. But alas, the writing and subject was and is shit.


I stopped writing, and basically listened to a lot of Robert Wyatt records. His voice convey a comfort zone for me that no other singer can bring to me. Often I like to watch silent Ernst Lubitsch films with Wyatt as its soundtrack. It shouldn't work, but it works for me. I came to the conclusion that this memoir doesn't work as a piece of literature. But maybe as an art object or art piece?

The manuscript as of now, which again, focuses pretty much on the day I was born, runs to 104 typed pages. I decided to print out the manuscript, put each page in a decorative picture frame (can get it at the local drug store cheaply) and sign each paper. The work can only be sold separately, and I will charge $150 for each framed page. This will come to around $15,600, but I am not sure about the expenses of typing paper and the frames. Maybe it should be a tad more expensive?

The project is already a pain-in-the-neck, due that I have to go to various CVS outlets to purchase 104 picture frames. For a minute I was thinking maybe I should get custom made frames? But the work inside those frames are shit, so why purchase something more expensive for shit?

I finally gather all the cheap shitty frames, and spent a day and a half putting each page of the manuscript within these frames. I decided the best thing to do was have an exhibition at my house, so I had to remove works by Marcel Broodthaers, Jackson Pollock and Alice Neel off my walls to replace them with my crap. 


To decorate the living room where the exhibition took place, I added flower arrangements by Hiroshi Teshigahara around the room. He is my local floweriest but often a pain-in-the-ass to deal with. With him it is all about the aesthetic, and sometimes it's a bit much for me.

I didn't want to waste time with riffraff, so I put a sign on my front door that admission is $150 and with that you get a free piece of artwork from yours truly. Which of course is a page of my manuscript not that nicely framed. Nevertheless business was terrible, and now I have this inventory on my wall that reminds me consistently of my failure.

January 27, 2014

January 27, 2014

 I met her at  Book Soup where I used to work, and she was in the poetry section looking up Decadent poets.  Of course, by now, all of them dead. Nevertheless I wanted to speak to her, but it is always an awkward period of time in trying to talk to a total stranger.  I knew a bit of poetry and actually wrote a book of poems "The Plum In Mr. Blum's Pudding."   Sadly the book is out-of-print, and Book Soup didn't have any in stock.  A perfect tool for a meeting, no?

She was holding the Zone edition of "The Decadent Reader and comparing it with another anthology "The Libertine Reader."  Both excellent by the way.   After she was studying both editions, I told her to go for the Decadent anthology.  She looked at me, and I just kept on talking.

"I was exactly at the same place, and I had to make a choice between the two books.  I chose 'Decadent Reader" and haven't regret that choice to this day."

It was the ice-breaker that I was looking for, and she commented that she was going to follow my recommendation.   I found the book that I was looking for, and ironically enough by the same publisher of the Decadent book, "Masochism," which is by Gilles Deleuze and it includes the short novel by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch called "Venus In Furs."

As we left the store together, I introduce myself, and that was that.  Later that evening I got a message through Facebook from Fanny, asking me if I remember her, even though it was just hours before our meeting.  "Of course."  I located her page on Facebook and requested that she become a friend.  By the next morning she accepted my request, and we have been chatting on a regular everyday level.

Fanny was always seductive, and quite playful with respect to her conversations with me online.  We never actually talked about meeting each other physically, till she brought up the subject.  She told me to go to Mohawk Bend on Sunset Blvd that evening.  The odd thing is that Fanny mentioned that she was on a date that night, but wanted me to sit as close as possible to their table.  Me being me, said "sure."

She gave me a specific time to show up, which was something crazy like 8:15 PM.  I followed her directions, and found her sitting in a small table in the back with her date.  There was an empty table in front of that table, and where I was sitting I was facing her, but behind her date's back. She told me through Facebook that I wasn't to approach her or talk to her at all.  Just basically have my dinner or drink, but stay close to the table as much as possible.  As luck had it, because it was busy that night, I found the perfect table at the perfect amount of distance from their table.

I never did anything like this before, and I had to admit to myself that I was turned on by the whole thing.  Once in a while she would acknowledge my presence with a glance here or there, but obviously her date didn't know what was happening.  She then brought out from her purse a copy of "The Decadent Reader" and showed it to her date.  At this point both of them were holding hands.  By their physical presence I had to presume that they have had intimate moments together.  I can see that I was being drawn in by her to sort of join this intimacy between them.   It made me feel uncomfortable as well as intrigued by how this evening was turning out.

After their meal, she got up with her purse to what I presume was the bathroom.   After five minutes or so, her gentleman friend also got up and sort of wandered towards the same direction.  What I noticed about ten minutes later was the waitress showing up at their now abandoned table and being visually upset.  It seemed that both left the restaurant without paying their bill.  I felt bad about the waitress, who to be honest was quite beautiful, and I offered to pay their bill.   After going back and forth on this, they accepted my money and that was that.

When I got home later that evening, I received a message from her just saying "thank you for the dinner."

The Beyond Baroque Literary Art Center's Film Festival (curated by Tosh Berman)

Being a poetry/fiction mad obsessed man, I pretty much hung out at Beyond Baroque Literary Arts Center in Venice California.  This was in 1991/1992.  Benjamin Weissman was the program director for literary readings, and he brought incredible talent to the center.  I asked him and the Director at the time if I could show films there.  Or maybe Benjamin asked me?  Nevertheless they said 'yes,' but I had to raise funds to purchase a pair of 16mm film projectors. With a little sweat, good luck, and kindness of a few backers, we got the equipment we needed.  All minimal, but nevertheless we could project 16mm films onto to a stand up screen.  Very old school.
With the help of Lun*na Menoh, and a couple of projectionists, but mostly with Relah Eckstein, we did a show.  One of the first ideas I had was to bring Buster Keaton in a more adventuresome  light.  Famous at the time of course, but still I felt people were looking at him as just as a slapstick clown.  In my eyes he was the ultimate 20th Century man.  I decided to put him on a program with Luis Bunuel films.  It was a perfect fit.

Alice Guy-Blaché and Lois Weber were pioneering filmmakers from the teens and Twenties.  Alice Guy was a major producer who ran a film studio in France.  The films she made were charming and funny.  The American Lois Weber's films dealt with the politics of its day.  When you think of it now quite daring for her time. 

Another program focusing on the works of pioneering women filmmakers. Here I focused on Weber and Guy but also Leni Reienstahl, and got a  nasty letter for showing her on this program.  
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Very interesting double-bill of classic kid novels but versions made in the teens.  "The Wizard of Oz " was actually directed by the book's author L. Frank Baum. 

Early Rene Clair films that were at the time very hard to see.  Remember this was the time of VHS, and a lot of these films didn't make it to the cross over.  "Crazy Ray" was a very funny Clair film. It was about a ray that could stop time, therefore everything is frozen.  Lighthearted yet had serious overtones.  Perfect match.

This was the only time where I actually had the filmmaker showing his films.  Harun Farocki is a German filmmaker, theorist, and writer.  The work was fascinating, and I was very lucky to get him to do this.   The Goethe Institute was very helpful with respect to this program.

At the time I was crazy about Peter Greenaway.  He was the only filmmaker at that time that drove people batty.  I never have been in an audience where someone's work really pissed people off.  These short films he made before he became big, were charming, funny, and hypnotic. 

What a wonderful night.  I showed all the classic Joseph Cornell films, but also a woman came by early with a film reel under her arm.  She told me that Cornell made this film for her, and she never saw it.  So the film has never been projected or shown to anyone.  It was a 'wow.'  But a secret 'wow' because no one, including me was expecting someone to bring such a treasure to our little place.

More Cornell!  Also films by Bruce Conner.  A nice combination because both used found footage in their work.  

To me there was something subversive of showing a silent Oscar Wilde related films.  A man known for his words, yet we had silent versions of two of his major works.  "Lady Windermere's Fans" and the legendary "Salome."  Both films by the way were excellent.  A sold-out audience where no one was under 70 years old.  And all men!

Odd enough "Band of Outsiders" was not shown that much in Los Angeles at the time.  Nor was it on VHS.  This and a Godard short "All The Boys Called Patrick" was a magical night.  Dancing in the aisles!

It is amazing but right now I can look at the right side of the desk and see my French, British, and American edition of Louis Feuillade's "Fantomas" on DVD.  In 1991, the film was a total mystery and no one, and I mean no one was aware of this piece work.  The film is six 1 hour episodes in total. What I did was show Chapter 2, each episode was a separate and complete narrative - and it was an amazing film.  Without a doubt one of my all-time favorite films. 

The great and kind of tragic Edgar Ulmer.  Odd enough "Detour" was not available on VHS at the time.  So here was the perfect marriage of a film with no budget shown in an organization that barely had a budget.  Kind of sad, but beautiful at the same time.

January 26, 2014

January 26, 2014

As an older and much more mature man than I was some years ago, I am almost embarrassed how I acted in front of women with my two friends Roger Vadim and Eddie Barclay.  What we three had in common was drinks, music, literature, and...women.   When the three of us got together a certain madness took over, that wouldn't happen if we were separated from each other.  Thinking back now, it is scary.

There was a beautiful girl, whose name has stayed with me for many years now.  Jenny Colon, whose name I like to think is more of  a grammar issue than a body function, used to go out with a common friend of ours, Gérard.  Or we should say he wanted to have her as a girlfriend.  She sort of played with him in a rather cruel way, and when the three of got together we became obsessed with seducing her.  While we were sitting at the Taboo club, drinking what I think was our third bottle of wine, we thought of a plan to invite Gérard and Jenny to my apartment that wasn't too far away from the club.


I remember the three of us had an argument what records we should be playing on my turntable. Eddie thought of Jacques Brel, but I wanted something more ambient sounding - we finally all agree on Fripp and Eno's "Evening Star" album.  It was my theory that the pacing of the music was perfect for sex.  It was quiet, but there were points in the music where there was a subtle amount of intensity building up, which to my experience was perfect while having intercourse with a woman.  Once we agreed, and all three of us spent time cleaning and testing the sound of the recording, we cleaned up the apartment.

First things first was that we got rid of the chairs and tables.  There would be only two choices here.  Either standing up or laying on the floor or the bed, which was the only furniture in the room.  It was small, there was this room, a small kitchen and toilet with a very small shower.

Gérard showed up with a bottle of wine, but as he entered us three looked behind him to see where Jenny was.  I actually immediately left the apartment and went down the flight of winding stairs to see if she may be on the first floor for some reason.  When I came back up, Gérard was in tears, saying that he and Jenny had an argument before leaving his place.  The three of us looked at each other, and we just without saying a word, left the apartment, leaving Gérard alone with the bed and his bottle of wine.

January 25, 2014

January 25, 2014

Whenever I hear Felix Mendelssohn's "The Wedding March" it makes me a tad sad. I had a girlfriend in my 20's and her name was Nellie Bly. I say 'was' because I am not sure if she is still alive or not. Nellie and I were going to get married, and I insisted that we must have "The Wedding March" as the 'song' for the wedding. She suggested that we find the best recording of the song, but the romantic in me wanted a full live orchestra for the wedding. This of course was way beyond our budget. Yet, we put off the wedding till we can save enough money for such an orchestra. This, in my point of view, was a major mistake on my part.

The longer we wait, the longer it seemed impossible to get married. I think the reason why I wanted to marry Nellie besides loving her of course, was that I wanted to contain her. At her very core, besides being a great beauty, she was an adventurer. What broke off our engagement was that she wanted to go around the world in 72 days, like her literary idol Jules Verne. She made it very clear to me that she wanted to take this trip alone. 

I was scared and turned-on thinking of her traveling by herself in such a manner. Our sex life at this point just got nasty instead of loving. Afterwards I would find tears in my eyes, and I would turn away from her, because I didn't want her to see me in such a state. But even through the tears, it somewhat added a sense of drama to our love making. 


The two music artists we liked to listen to in our heated moment of passion was Sleepy John Estes and Antônio Antonio Carlos Jobim. For some, music gets in the way of the love making, but for me and her, we needed a specific soundtrack, and as our physical passion got stronger, we noticed that we consistently broke or chipped the actual vinyl during our 'session.'

One day she just left me. I didn't know where she went, and no one seemed to know either. One day I got a phone call, with the great help of the Oriental Telephone Company, which strange enough was an American company that sold the first telephones to Asia. Nevertheless she told me that she was enjoying her trip around the world, and also our relationship is over. She didn't say this out of being mean, but it was her nature to do something like this. I could be hurt or bitter, but in fact it made me love her more.

January 24, 2014

January 24, 2014



When I was working at Book Soup I ran across this beautiful woman, who looked familiar to me, but I just couldn't place her face with a name or location or even time.   Someone in the store yelled out "Tosh!" and both of us turned our heads toward the voice at the same time.  The woman was Natassja Kinski, and we both looked at each other and laughed.   She told me her nick-name is "Tosh," and she asked my name.  I told her my name is Natassja.  She looked at me and we both laughed.


She was looking for a book of poems by Caresse Crosby, which sadly we didn't have on the shelf at the time. I often felt like an abandoned book on a shelf, because I knew my time was about to end here, and I wanted to ask her out for coffee if she had time.  But alas, she left the store before I could find courage to ask her.  Later that night I went to Amoeba to purchase the DVD's  "Paris, Texas" and "Cat People"  I found both copies under her name.  Amoeba gave her films their own section in the store.  On the bin card someone cut out her face and attached it to the card.  It made me sad because I feel that this will be the closest I will get to "Tosh."



When I got home, after a long journey on Line 2, I started to watch "Paris, Texas," and I too found myself in sympathy with the leading character who became lost for some mysterious reason, maybe due for his love for "Tosh."   It was there, that I realized that one's idea of a person can be even more satisfying than knowing that person.  I became quite content to have these two DVD's and one is playing in front of me right now.  Towards the end of the film, when she makes an appearance, I turned down the sound and put on a Klaus Nomi record called "The Cold Song."  The beautiful melody and performance of that song matched up perfectly with the image of Natassja.

"Laziness in the Fertile Valley" by Albert Cossery

New Directions ISBN: 978-0-08112-1874-0
I'm not a man that has a lot of heroes, but if I was going to choose one hero, it would be Albert Cossery.  A wrier who is devoted to watching pretty girls from cafes and being lazy.  With those two high-standard activities, this is a writer I will follow from heaven to hell. "Laziness in the Fertile Valley" is another one of his masterpieces that deals with a set of characters who prefer to do nothing when 'something' appears and shows its ugly heard.  What we have here is a family of men, who one, the older brother prefers and does only a great deal of sleeping.  Waking up for the occasional meal, and then back to bed.  The younger brother, foolishly has a desire to go out of the house and find work, and the Dad, is busy arranging a marriage, but has to deal with some rather old guy's specific problems.

Cossery, Egyptian born, but lived most of his adult life in Paris cafes - mostly all located in the St. Germain des Prés section of Paris, is a writer who according to Anna Della Subin in her informative afterword enclosed in this book, came from a family of lazy people.  His grandfather, for instance, refused to leave his bedroom.  For me this is a much desired lifestyle.  There is a tinge of jealousy when I read Cossery's novels, but alas, the enjoyment I get from them is a sense of bliss.

January 23, 2014

January 23, 2014

I woke up early this morning to go to the Broome Street General Store to meet my friend Albert Cossery, for coffee, who just finished a remarkable novel "Laziness in the Fertile Valley."  He just got back from visiting another common pal of ours, Boris, who is an engineer, but works at a paper manufacturing plant, doing something technical.  Both of them has this long-term on-going game of playing Frisbee.  Boris and a friend of his Walter it seemed invented this flying disc, and eventually sold the rights to it to Wham-O.



Albert and I, as we sipped our coffees thought of the other great Wham-O toy products like the Hula-Hoop, and my personal favorite Slip n' Slide.  It is basically a large strip of plastic filled with water, and what you do is you jump on it forward and you'll slide to the other side.  It is perfect for Los Angeles hot weather, but be warned, don't do it near a staircase.  What happened to me was I jumped on and then fell a flight of stairs to a very dry and hot piece of pavement.


It is very rare for two adults to have such a long friendship, but Albert and I share a great deal of common passions.  Both of us are huge fans of the films of Sergei Eisenstein.  We had a passionate argument that lasted for hours regarding Eisenstein.  Albert insisted that Randolph Scott got his start in "Ivan The Terrible."  I told him that is so wrong that it makes a wrong into a right.  We almost came to blows but we changed our mind and instead we ordered another round of coffee.



But since Eisenstein films' were silent, I would show him my 16mm print of "Battleship Potemkin" with an additional soundtrack by Django Reinhardt.  For whatever reason the hot jazz music fits in perfectly with people getting smashed and destroyed in this film.  What became a horror show turned into a really funny slapstick film.

Both Albert and I are big fans of Eisenstein's book "The Film Sense" which is about the idea of 'montage' in film.  But in reality that can be used in an almost everyday occurrence. I can't remember the film's title, but the one starring Jeanne Moreau, where she walks around, what I think is Paris, with cool Jazz music.  If one put in a symphony in that soundtrack, it would have changed the mood.  Maybe even destroy that scene?

As I said goodbye to Albert, and watch him walk away from the coffee shop, I thought 'it is so nice to have such a great friend.'

January 22, 2014

January 22, 2014

I couldn't sleep last night so I got up and watched "The Man Who Laughs" starring Conrad Veidt. It was broadcasted on the local KTLA station, and normally my TV set seems to be attached to Channel 5. Call me sentimental,but I just can't watch any station except KTLA. It meant so much to me as a youngster. I am pretty sure I witnessed the shooting of Lee Harvey Oswald on this station. It was the first time I became aware of someone actually getting shot and dying, compared to watching Westerns on Saturday mornings where bad guys got shot, but mostly just shooting the gun out of their hands. So the fact that someone got shot, and not only they died, but also Oswald didn't have a gun in his hand when he got shot was just simply odd to me. 


Sometimes KTLA would broadcast a D.W. Griffith film, but for some reason it was hard for me to watch a silent film on a TV set. In a movie theater no problem. Especially when they have an organist on the bill. Actually the first time I saw a Griffith film was in Tokyo with Mie Yanashita on the piano. "Broken Blossoms" was the film, and Ms. Yanashita's music score to the film was very touching and beautiful. 

This morning, after I dressed I went to Amoeba Music to try to locate some piano or organ silent movie music. There was some titles there, but I really wanted something that would fit the mood of either "Broken Blossoms" or "The Man Who Laughs." After almost a hour in their soundtrack section I couldn't find what I was looking for. But that's life in the nutshell. You try to force a 'taste' on oneself, instead of letting it naturally go to you. I should have looked for the music with no thought to my head. 


Nevertheless I found myself in the Associates/Billy Mackenzie vinyl section in the other large room at the store. The late (and much missed) Billy always reminded me of Lord Byron, and if Byron was alive now, no doubt he would be a lead singer in some Sunset Strip band. Or maybe work in an used clothing boutique in Echo Park. 

When I got home I felt a depression upon me. Before the dark cloud takes over, I usually can fight it off by reading the poems and writings by Francis Picabia. But this time it didn't do the work, so I put on Malcolm McLaren's "Paris" album which didn't exactly cheered me up, but made the pain seem like a dream.

Will The Real Mr Sellers Please Stand Up (1969)